


Sour Goat's Milk

by Python07



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 16:57:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19255351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Python07/pseuds/Python07
Summary: The night before battle, Davos' thoughts aren't very good company.Takes place during ep 6.9: Battle of the Bastards, right after he finds Shireen's pyre.





	Sour Goat's Milk

Davos was not a learned man. He didn’t have a way with words and he may have only learned to read late in life. Some highborn thought him stupid because of it. 

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what it meant when he found the figurine of the blackened, broken stag in the cold ashes of that pyre. He knew what it all meant. He knew who died in an unspeakable way. He knew who advocated it and he knew who allowed such evil.

What he didn’t know was how to wrap his heart and mind around that knowledge. It was horrifying. Not only was his sweet little princess dead, she --

He shoved that line of thought to the back of his mind. He didn’t want to think about how terrified she would’ve been. He didn’t want to think about her pain. He didn’t want to think that Stannis sent him back to the wall so that he wouldn’t object instead of for reinforcements. He didn’t want to think about the fact that the man he pledged his life to had done such a thing.

He stood in the cold, frozen. He stared at the broken toy until it was too dark to see it properly. Snow swirled around him and his heart thumped painfully in his chest. Wind howled and bit into his cheeks. His stomach roiled.

Suddenly, he inhaled sharply. He swallowed against the sob lodged in his throat. He slipped the broken toy into his pouch and turned to stumble back to camp.

He didn’t think about where he was going. He weaved his way through the different small groups huddling around fires, eating, drinking, and swapping stories. He didn’t care to notice that there were Northmen and Wildlings, together as if old comrades.

He stopped at an open tent flap to listen to a song. He may not have understood the language but the bawdiness of it was in its tone. He waited until it was over. His own voice sounded rough even to his own ears. “Is that offer of a drink still open?”

Tormund grinned up at him from where he was sitting in a nest of furs. His face was flushed with drink. A large jug sat within easy reach. He waved Davos closer and patted the space next to him. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” Davos eased down with a soft grunt and sore joints.

Tormund poured a second cup and pressed it into Davos’ hands. He smirked good naturedly. “I thought you were going to walk and think until you’re far enough away from camp that no one knows you’re shitting your guts out.”

Davos shrugged and took a sip. The flavor was powerful, pungent and sour. It burned on the way down. His eyes watered and he started coughing.

Tormund laughed and slapped him on the back, hard. “You Southerners have no stomach.”

Davos managed to keep the foul brew down. He cleared his throat. He drank again and it burned just as much.

Tormund drained his cup. He refilled it and regarded Davos for a long moment. “Why did you come back before light?”

Davos ran a weary hand down his face. “Because I don’t want to think anymore.” He finished the cup and it went a little smoother this time. He let Tormund fill it again. He didn’t look at him. “Tonight, my thoughts aren’t very good company.” He drank and welcomed the burn. “I can’t stop and it’s just...” He trailed off with a heavy sigh.

Tormund nodded to himself, swiftly downed his drink, and set his cup to the side. He moved to sit on his knees in front of Davos. “It’s too busy.” He pointed at Davos’ head. “In there.”

Davos shut his eyes in a an effort to shut the world out. Too bad he couldn’t do the same with his own mind. “Yes.”

“Do you want me to help you?”

Some of the tension left Davos’ shoulders and something in his gut eased. He didn’t open his eyes. “How?” he whispered raggedly.

Tormund chuckled. “Do you trust me?”

Davos snorted in dry amusement. “No.”

Tormund laughed loudly. “Wise man.” He clicked his tongue between his teeth. “Will you allow me to help you?” 

“How?”

“I have my ways. Yes or no?”

Davos didn’t have to look to know that Tormund was waggling his eyebrows. “Yes,” he whispered before he could think better of it.

Tormund’s hand landed on Davos’ knee. “Drink up, keep your eyes closed, and just go with it.”

Davos started at the touch. He felt Tormund lean in close to him. His mouth went dry and there was a new tension in his gut. He let out a shuddering breath, but made no move to get away. He simply did as he was told.

“I know you Southerners have some strange ideas. Before you try to argue, I do this because I want to,” Tormund drawled as he squeezed Davos’ knee. He took the cup from Davos’ suddenly shaky grasp. He rested his forehead against Davos’. “It’s much too busy in there,” he murmured, suddenly quiet and earnest. “Time to think of something else.”

Hot and sour breath ghosted across Davos’ lips. He froze when that large hand slid up his thigh and between his legs. He didn’t know what to do with his own hands. He didn’t know if he wanted to push Tormund away or urge him forward. He settled for grabbing Tormund’s shoulders.

“Or, better yet, nothing at all.” Tormund took a moment to feel him through all his layers. “How long has it been?”

Davos bit his lip against the moan that wanted to escape. “Too long.”

Tormund pressed harder against the stirring cock. His free hand cupped the side of Davos’ neck. “That’s too bad,” he said in a low growl.

Davos couldn’t help how breathless he sounded. “I can’t say I’ve had many willing partners lately.”

Tormund continued rubbing. His thumb stroked Davos’ jaw. “Their loss.”

Davos’ breath hitched. His focus narrowed to where they touched and the warm air shared between them. He squeezed Tormund’s shoulders. His voice was thick and he felt sluggish. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I don’t lie.” Tormund stated, simply and firmly. He shoved Davos to lay back. His eager fingers slipped beneath Davos’ clothing. “And this is not pity.”

Rough, calloused hands against his bare skin sent a jolt through Davos’ system. He arched into the touches without thought. He buried his fingers into the furs beneath him.

Tormund freed Davos’ hard length. He gave a couple light strokes. Then he wasted no time in taking him into his mouth.

Davos let out a curse. All he could think about was the wet heat around him. Nothing else mattered, not the war or other horrors, not the thoughts that wanted to suffocate him, and not the grief that was waiting to ambush him when he was too tired to fight it. 

Tormund swirled his tongue around the head. He pulled off briefly to grab Davos’ hands. He put them on his head and resumed his quest to make Davos lose his mind. 

Davos choked back a moan and his hips bucked up. He tasted blood on his lip. He tugged on Tormund’s coarse hair. Whatever was in it crunched in his fingers.

Tormund brought Davos to the edge, only to pull back. He kept a firm grip on the base of Davos’ cock. “Stop holding back. I want to hear you.”

The moans spilled from Davos’ lips as Tormund brought him to the edge several times but didn’t let him fall over. He trembled with need. His clothes stuck to his sweat soaked body. His mind was blank except for the sweet torture.

Tormund finally took pity on him. He didn’t pull back. He took Davos deep down his throat and hummed.

His climax shattered him. It was thunder and lightning in his veins. It was the storm that took out everything in its wake. For the first time, he slept the night before a battle.


End file.
